


If It Makes You Less Sad

by coricomile



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: It's not that Patrick doesn't trust Pete- not really, even though he's go nearly a decade of reasons not to- but more that. Well. He knows Pete, and that's enough for him to know that this little trip to Michigan can go nowhere good.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	If It Makes You Less Sad

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out the backlog.

It's not that Patrick doesn't trust Pete- not really, even though he's go nearly a decade of reasons not to- but more that. Well. He knows Pete, and that's enough for him to know that this little trip to Michigan can go nowhere good.

Pete's singing cheerily, killing Lennon's War is Over as he straightens his hair, voice echoing off the walls of the bathroom as Patrick elbows past him to get into the shower. It is seven am, and he is in no mood for Pete's coffee addled morning routine.

"Did you pack a bag?" Pete asks, pulling aside the shower curtain as Patrick turns the water on. He's got his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, straightener still in his hand. Patrick yanks the curtain back to cover himself.

"Yes, I packed a bag." He scrubs at his hair harder than he really needs to as Pete spits into the sink.

"Don't be like that, dude. You'll have a good time. I swear." Pete sticks his head into the shower again, and it takes a considerable amount of effort on Patrick's part to not spray him in the face.

"You know what a good time would be?" He asks instead. "Coffee. And sleep. And more coffee. And more sleep." Pete scoffs and waves a hand.

"You can sleep when you're dead." He lets the curtain fall closed, and Patrick can hear the slap of his feet on the tile as he walks towards the bedroom. "Coffee is doable, though."

By time Patrick's washed and shaved, Pete's wrecked their room. His only saving grace is the hot, sweet cup of coffee sitting on the nightstand in Patrick's favorite mug. Patrick grabs at it, still in his towels, and sits heavily on the edge of the bed to watch Pete's mad dash around the room.

It's been like this for awhile- the two of them, their one-bedroom apartment in LA, their constant togetherness. It's been years in the making, and all it really took for them to get with the program was a little push from Ashlee, of all people. Pete misses her, sometimes, and Patrick gets hurt and jealous when he notices, but. Things are going. They're making it work.

Pete lets out a triumphant cry when he finds whatever it was that he's been looking for, and Patrick nearly chokes on his coffee in surprise. It's a bundle of papers, but Pete shoves them into his hoodie before Patrick can make anything of them.

"You're cleaning this when we get home," Patrick says slowly, looking sadly down at the mess of hats in the corner. Pete rolls his eyes and tosses a pair of boxers at him.

"Get dressed, dude. The open road awaits." He hauls his and Patrick's bag downstairs, leaving Patrick to get changed. Shaking his head, Patrick reluctantly does.

\---

Driving hasn't gotten any more exciting, Patrick decides as Pete takes a turn off of the highway, onto bridge. He curls his fingers into a fist as they go over it, letting out his held breath when they're back on a proper road.

Pete's given up on the Christmas carols, instead turning the radio on to some jazz station that Patrick appreciates. He's squirming in the driver's seat, fingers tapping un-rhythmically against the wheel, foot pressed down too hard on the gas for comfort.

"So," Patrick starts, resting his back against the door. They're in Pete's SUV, and Patrick feels a bit of nostalgia for the old van in the pit of his stomach. "What, exactly, are we doing in Michigan?" Pete grins, wide and full of his ridiculous teeth, and shakes his head.

"It's a surprise," he says, and Patrick feels his morals twitch. He ponders the possibilities of hitchhiking his way back home briefly before deciding that being stuck with a known lunatic is better than being stuck with a probable one.

\---

Patrick's jerked out of sleep as Pete comes to a sudden stop. He braces his hands against the dash, too many close calls and accidents rearing up at the back of his brain, before realizing that they're in the parking lot of a diner that looks suspiciously like a Waffle House.

"Rise and shine, Pattycakes," Pete says softly. He already knows Patrick's awake- it's creepy how good he is at that, Patrick thinks- and he gives Patrick just enough time to reorient himself before cutting the engine. "Thought you might want lunch." Before he can reply, Patrick's stomach gives a little gurgle. Pete laughs.

They make their way inside, and Patrick's happy to see that the diner is mostly deserted, save for a few blue-haired old ladies chattering about cards in the corner. They settle into a booth in the back, and there's coffee in front of them before they even ask.

"What time is it?" Patrick asks as he takes in the memorabilia tacked to the wall, hiding a yawn in his hand.

"Four-ish?" Pete's making a mound of salt on the table, prodding at it with his index finger. Patrick shakes his head and sips on the coffee. It's black and overcooked, but he feels himself waking up again. "I figured we could stop at a hotel if you wanted."

"I can drive through tonight," Patrick says, catching the hitch of relief in the line of Pete's shoulders. Pete grins, and Patrick can't help but return it.

"Um, excuse me." There's a woman at the table, young enough to blush when they look up at her, old enough to have a tiny little bump under her sweater. "Are you, I mean. Um. Patrick Stump?"

Patrick ducks his head even as Pete lets out one of his loud, abrasive laughs. Patrick's not used to it, still. People knowing his name, knowing what he does and who he is.

"Yeah, um." He waves awkwardly, kicking Pete under the table in efforts to stop the constant stream of laughter. The woman's face brightens, cheeks still pink.

"I loved your work with Lupe Fiasco," she says. "You're really talented."

"Um. Thank you." Patrick means it, even if he's awkward about saying it. The woman waves, and then she's gone, out the door, into the parking lot. Pete nudges Patrick's foot under the table and grins. "Food, Pete. Don't be a dick."

"You are talented, Rick," Pete says seriously. "Also, you love my dick." Patrick flushes and kicks him again for good measure.

\---

Patrick slides into the driver's seat after they've paid their bill, pulling the seat closer to the wheel as Pete settles in next to him. He doesn't really know where they're headed, but Pete had set the GPS before they'd left, and it beeped happily at him every time it wanted his attention.

The sun's setting as he pulls out of the parking lot, bright through the windshield, a sea of oranges and pinks. It lights Pete's face, catches the laugh lines that are forming steadily around his mouth. Patrick feels a tug in his chest and grins to himself as he pulls back onto the highway.

Pete doesn't sleep at all during the hours Patrick drives. He's in constant motion, fiddling with the A/C, plugging in his iPod, switching it for Patrick's, drawing faces and hearts on the window with fog from his own breath. It's endearing and annoying in the same way that everything Pete does is annoying and endearing, and Patrick finds himself singing to get Pete to settle down. It works- it always works- and Pete loses some of the nervous energy that's been eating at him all day.

"We should switch," Pete says as Patrick finally crosses the state line into Michigan. Patrick looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. Pete doesn't notice, though, Blackberry lifted to his face.

Patrick pulls to the side of the road, and they play a quick round of Chinese firedrill. Pete throws himself into the driver's seat and takes off as soon as Patrick shuts his door, too fast again, the corner of his mouth twitching.

They end up in a small neighborhood, the high beams that are still on catching the lines of Christmas decorations. Snow is falling lightly, and Patrick realizes again how much he misses Chicago in winter. Pete touches his hand, and Patrick turns his up, curls his fingers into Pete's and listens to Billy Idol crooning on the radio.

"Close your eyes," Pete says sometime later, and Patrick doesn't fight it. He's come this far, he figures. Might as well keep going.

The car stops under him, and Patrick waits patiently as Pete gets out. He feels the door open beside him, and he lets Pete help him out, grinning despite himself.

"I'm going to be kind of pissed if you, like, walk me into a wall or something," he says, and Pete's laugh settles warm in his belly as he shuffles alongside him.

The air goes from freezing to warm and the pavement turns to carpet. Pete's still got one hand around Patrick's elbow, his shoulder bumping into Patrick's with each step. There's the sound of someone talking in the distance, and Patrick wonders again what's going on around him.

"Hey, wait here, yeah?" Pete presses a hot kiss to the side of his cheek, and then the warmth of his hand is gone, and Patrick catches the sound of his sneakers leaving the room.

Pete's gone long enough that Patrick starts to fidget, weighing the pros and cons of opening his eyes before he's told to. Before he has the chance to decide, something warm and wet is on his cheek. He opens his eyes and is met with another swipe of tongue against his cheek.

"Patrick, meet Kingston," Pete says proudly. Kingston is a tiny ball of fur with big, wet blue eyes and a long, wet tongue that sticks out of his mouth. His tail waggles excitedly, the entire lower half of his body wiggling along with it. His belly is white, but the rest of him is grey, and from the size of the back paws dangling down, Patrick can tell he's going to be huge.

"Pete-"

"I know we could have adopted in LA, but the Richards are, like, the best Husky breeders ever, and his name is Kingston, dude. It was, like, fate, y'know?" Pete looks as earnest as the puppy in his hands, eyes just as wide. "And, I know that Hemmy's lonely, and I thought that. Maybe Kingston could keep you company when we had to be in separate states?"

Patrick nearly laughs. His heart skips in his chest as he leans forward to hug Pete and the puppy. Kingston licks his cheek again.

"I love you, too, dude," Patrick says against Pete's mouth. Kingston yips, and Patrick feels kind of like the luckiest dude ever.


End file.
